


Closure

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation (2015)
Genre: Emotions, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Language, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that The Syndicate is finally history, Will has a few things he needs to say to Ethan.  (Set pretty much immediately after the events in London in Rogue Nation)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closure

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Narrated by Will & self-beta'd.
> 
> ~ I freely acknowledge that this has a lot in common with another fic of mine, Homecoming. The time-frame and the 'getting together after so long apart' thing is exactly the same. This, however, is Will's take on things - NOT his side of that story, but a different take on what is essentially very similar...
> 
> ~ Please. Enjoy!

=========  
Closure  
by TalithaX  
=========

 

“Ethan!” Jumping to his feet, Benji brandishes his iPad around in the air and gives an almost completely over-the-top sigh of relief. “Ethan's back!” he adds somewhat redundantly as, clearly wanting us to share his enthusiasm, he walks around the coffee-table and shoves the tablet in Luther's direction for a couple of seconds before waving it at me. “Look! It's Ethan!”

“So it is,” Luther drawls as he gives the live-feed footage of the hotel's reception area on the iPad's screen a cursory glance before shrugging and beginning to pack up the deck of cards he's been playing solitaire with ever since I returned to the suite some four or so hours ago. “About damn time the spooks let him go.”

“I know, right,” Benji replies, giving me an odd, vaguely worried look as I stand, unmoving and impassive, by the window. “I mean, I don't know about either of you, but I was beginning to think they weren't going to let him go at all.”

Not liking the – 'just what exactly is your problem, didn't you hear me say that Ethan's back?' – expression on Benji's face as he continues to gaze at me, I shove my hands in the pockets of my suit trousers and slowly turn to face the window. “They had nothing to hold him on,” I murmur. “Hell. They had nothing to hold any of us on.”

“Brandt's right,” Luther states as, by the sound of it, he heaves himself up off the sofa. “Besides, by the time the Prime Minister had finished singing his praises whoever the poor bastard is who's taken over from Atlee wouldn't have been able to get a word in. As for Hunley? That prick can go fuck himself, too.”

“Yeah, but... Ethan. They still held him for far longer than they did any of us,” Benji responds dubiously, as though there's a part of him that still doesn't believe that, against some fairly considerable odds, Ethan's actually done it and taken down The Syndicate and that, yes, it is finally all over.

“That's 'cos he would have had the most to say,” Luther mutters. “Not wanting to point out the obvious here, Benji, but he was tracking those mother fuckers for six months while we were just sitting around on our asses doing nothing.”

“Speak for yourself,” I reply, directing my response to the busy London street outside the window as, feeling more and more tense by the second, I curl my hands into fists inside my pockets and dig my nails into my palms. “Not all of us just threw in the towel when...”

“I need a drink,” Luther, as is his wont just about whenever it is I'm speaking, interrupts. “Come on, Benji, I reckon you could do with one, too.”

“A... drink? But... But it's not even four in the afternoon,” Benji responds with a notable hint of surprise in his voice. “Luther? Don't you think it's a little early to...”

“Fine. Coffee. I feel like a coffee. Is that better?”

“Then I'll call room service for...”

“I don't want room service. I want to go out,” Luther states flatly as he starts to walk towards the door. “And, you, Benji, are coming with me.”

“But... Ethan. Ethan's on his way up and...”

“And that's exactly why we need to go now.”

“But... Ethan,” Benji repeats, making no attempt to hide his confusion at Luther's sudden desire to leave the room before Ethan gets here. “Don't you want to see him too?”

“If we time it right we can catch him as he gets out of the lift,” Luther replies as, having reached the door, he pulls it open. “Come on, Benji, it's time to go.”

“But...”

“Look. I don't know about you, but I don't want a front row seat for what's coming.”

“What? I don't...”

“If you don't know what I'm talking about, ask Mr Wound Up Too Tight over there.”

“What? Will? I don't...”

“Luther's right,” I murmur, cutting Benji off. “This isn't something you need to witness.”

“But...” Sighing, Benji walks over to me and lightly places his hand on my shoulder. “Will. I know...”

“We need to talk, that's all,” I reply, once again cutting him off as I keep my gaze locked on the window.

“Just... As it hasn't been easy for him either, don't be too hard on him, yeah,” he murmurs, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze before, with another sigh, turning around and making his way over to where Luther's still standing in the open doorway. “Will? I don't know, but... Have you thought that maybe this isn't the...”

“We need to talk,” I repeat as, pulling my hands out of my pockets, I fold my arms across my chest and brace myself for what's coming. “Benji... Please. Just go and get a coffee with Luther. We... We'll still be here when you get back.”

“Promise?” Benji counters, for him, firmly as he hesitates over walking through the door. “Seriously, Will, I'm not joking here. Things have been shitty enough without one of you deciding now would be a fine time to just throw your hands in the air and walk out.”

“I...” I nod and, although it's just about the last I feel like doing, murmur, “I give you my word that we'll both be here when you get back.”

“Trust me, you'd better be,” Benji mutters, getting the last word in as he finally walks out of the room. “Come on, Luther, as it's apparently in my best interests, you can buy me that coffee now.”

“Hallejulah,” Luther retorts as, pausing in the doorway, he just has to go and make his own attempt at getting the last word in. “As for you, Brandt, don't for a second forget that I heard that promise too.”

“As always, Luther, your threats have me duly cowered,” I reply both drily and with a truly indifferent shrug.

“Yeah, well, they should,” he declares with an amused sounding snort as he walks out of the room and joins Benji in the corridor. “Trust me, Brandt, you ain't yet seen my bad side.”

Biting back the urge to mumble, 'yeah, yeah, whatever,' under my breath, I don't say anything and just luxuriate in – the calm before the storm – having the suite momentarily to myself. I'm not, contrary to what he may actually believe, afraid of Luther and if I rub him the wrong way, then, really, that's just too bad. I respect him and accept that he's certainly a good agent. I also acknowledge both his friendship and loyalty to Ethan and know that they've been through a lot together. Hell, I even know that if – and right now it's a pretty fucking huge 'if' – Ethan and I are to have any sort of, professional or otherwise, future together that Luther will always be a part of it and like to think we'll eventually find a way to warm to each other. If, however, this doesn't prove to the case at all then, to put it bluntly, I'll survive.

Just as, regardless of how it may end, I'll survive what's coming.

Be the ultimate end result good, bad, or frustratingly indifferent, I'll not only survive it but, finally knowing where I stand, I'll also move on from it.

I'll have my say, hopefully get some form of closure, and... just get on with my life.

I know that the timing leaves a fair bit to be desired and that, given that I fully suspect Ethan will be as tired as I am, I'm leaving the door wide open for far too much emotion to creep in to what, ideally, is just meant to be a calm and frank discussion about how much the past six months have taken out of me and how, regardless of whether it's the answer I want to hear or not, I need to know if we're on the same page. The one I've chosen to think we were both on before everything went so spectacularly to shit six months ago and which, possibly for reasons that may soon be proven to be delusional, I'm still on.

I...

I just need to know.

I need to have my say because I don't think I can keep it bottled up for any longer, and I need to know where I stand with Ethan.

Again, the timing may very well suck, and I could easily be about to make a scene of close to monumental proportions, but it's just something I have to do. Something I... can't... not do. I don't like, even if it is only for an audience of one, being the centre of attention, and it would be a blatant lie to say I'm either good at, or have ever enjoyed, talking about my feelings, but in this case I honestly don't see as though I've got any other choice. I can't go on like I have been, and now that there's a possibility of Ethan being back in my life, nor can I swallow my confusion and doubt and just dutifully press on. It was... tolerable... enough while we were all still in the thick of the mission because, let's face it, there were other, far more pressing things at hand that what was going on in my head. Now, however...

It's over.

The existence of The Syndicate is out in the open. The CIA and MI6 are busily coming up with strategies to rid the world of their remnants once and for all. IMF are likely to be reinstated. Ethan's able to come back in. The interrogations, finger pointing and no holds barred equivalent of the Blame Game have been completed, and...

It's over.

We've answered their questions, stood up to the scrutiny and, as far as I'm concerned anyway, completely idle and voiced largely in embarrassment tinged annoyance threats, and we're all still here. Albeit a little more suspicious, worn down and cynical, and, in the case of Benji in particular, mentally scarred, we've survived everything the past six months threw at us and now just have to find a way to move on.

I thought, as it happens incorrectly given how easily Luther was able to read me, that I'd been doing a reasonable job of keeping it together. Okay. So unlike Luther and Benji, who – thanks to being viewed by Hunley and the pack of barely trained monkeys involved in my interrogation as A) not as far up the chain of command as I am, and B) being little more than acolytes of Ethan's who are just so besotted with him that they'll blindly do whatever he asks of them as opposed to being both highly trained and highly skilful agents in their own right – had already been at the hotel suite for a couple of hours before I got there and who had used the time to shower, change, and rest, I may still be wearing what's left of last night's suit and looking a bit rough or bedraggled around the edges. And, fine, I may not have said a lot or even spent more than a few minutes here and there perched uncomfortably on the edge of an armchair, but... So what? I answered their token questions about how my interview had gone, snorted derisively when Benji hesitantly asked whether I was considering joining the joint CIA / MI6 task force that was being formed to eradicate The Syndicate, and, just as they were doing, tried to kill time while waiting impatiently for Hunley and Friends to finish with Ethan. Luther played solitaire – much to Benji's great astonishment with a real deck of cards instead of on a screen – and sighed a lot, Benji stared fixedly at the screen of his iPad in the hope of seeing Ethan walk into the foyer and, yes, sighed a lot, and I...

Did nothing.

Basically.

I paced a bit, and stared aimlessly out the window for a bit, and, without even being fully aware that I was doing it, unbuttoned and buttoned my waistcoat, along with rolling up, and then pulling them back down again and fiddling with the cuffs, the sleeves of my no longer quite so white dress shirt, and I...

Worried.

About Ethan.

Whether he was okay. How bad his interrogation was. Whether they were even going to release him. Where, if indeed anywhere, I stood with him. Whether I still meant, or even had... ever... meant, anything to him.

I know I could be in line for an unwelcome reality check. I also know that, unlike the amount of time I've spent dwelling and worrying on the subject, there's every chance Ethan hasn't spared me so much as a second thought since he hung up the phone and disappeared in London all those months ago. Being nothing if not – obsessively – thorough in everything I do, I can even admit to myself that I may well be making something out of absolutely nothing. I mean, let's face it, when it all boils down to it Ethan and I have spent less time actually together than we have apart. In the eleven months since – he effectively absolved my guilt over what I'd thought happened in Croatia by letting me know that his wife was still alive – I agreed to both return to field work and join his team, one was spent getting a feel for each other, both work and personality wise, four were... special enough... for me to be still fixated on, and the last six were spent not only apart but also with extremely little, and always solely professional, contact. To Ethan, and who knows, I could even be over-crediting myself here, I could be little more than a barely remembered and vaguely useful colleague, whereas to me, he's...

… Someone I waste far too much time thinking about.

It's not that I'm a paid up, card carrying member of Romantics Anonymous as, simply put, I'm not. Nor do I fall in love at the drop of a hat or hold on to the dream of finding... The One... and living Happily Ever After. While I'm at it, I've certainly indulged in my fair share of casual sex over the years and, depending on the circumstances, of course, I don't necessarily see anything wrong with a... Friends With Benefits... arrangement. Given the choice though, the answer to whether I'd like to be in a relationship is, yes, I would. The idea of having someone I could trust and depend on, not to mention have fully in my life as both a friend and a lover, appeals to me greatly and I hope one day that I get to experience it. That said, at this point in my life I'm still okay with casual sex. It scratches, very pleasurably, an itch and, generally, it just works. Both parties get something out of it and life goes on. It doesn't... have... to mean anything other than a means to an end.

With Ethan, the first time was just sex. Pure and simple. Our first mission as a team had successfully wrapped up, Benji, not really being one to hold his liquor, was already in bed asleep, Jane had slipped out in search of 'some fun', and Ethan and I were alone in the hotel suite with what was left of a bottle of scotch. The mood was relaxed, I was finally comfortable enough with Ethan to accept that he wasn't just keeping me around as an attempt to assuage his own sense of guilt over how Croatia had effected me, and, as the old story goes, one thing just led to another. Having decided to call it quits for the night, we stood up and stumbled into each other, and hands that were used to steady just... stayed. We didn't question it, the unmistakeable connection, and just followed it through to its natural conclusion. 

It was, not to put a too fine a point on it or anything, fucking incredible. Easily the best sex I'd had for years and, perhaps most gratifying of all, things weren't awkward between us in the morning. In fact, they were just... normal. And they remained normal. I didn't dwell on what had happened, or even waste too much time on idly hoping for a repeat performance and life, for all of two weeks, really did just go on. Then came... one of those days. Our intel was wrong, most of our equipment decided to come over all unreliable, and far too many innocent people died. Their deaths weren't our fault, and there was nothing more that we could have done, but it still sucked. It sucked big time and I felt their deaths keenly. 

Questioning my decision to place myself back in the field and not being in the mood for company, I took myself off to my room and was just sitting on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands when Ethan came in and sat down next to me. Fully expecting him to hit me with a lecture about needing to harden up and not let things get to me, I resigned myself to just nodding blandly in the hope of simply getting rid of him when, without warning, he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me warmly against him. He...

He held me, and murmured, “I know,” and, just like that, I knew then and there that there was more to Ethan than he usually allowed anyone to see. He wasn't just the most dedicated and brilliant agent to ever work for IMF, he was also kind, thoughtful, and someone I just happened to be incredibly lucky to call a friend. In fact, he was...

… Special.

And it was that point onwards, even if it did prove to be only for four months, that something just clicked between us. We had sex, and we both lingered in, and enjoyed each other's company, and without ever actually raising the issue of just what it was we might have had together, we seemed to be making it work. Speaking for myself anyway, I certainly thought it was working. Granted, I didn't exactly have any sort of clear idea as to where, if anywhere, it was going, but as I was enjoying myself I didn't want to jinx things by either over-thinking it or perhaps putting Ethan on the spot by asking his opinion on it. 

For the first time in what really did feel like too long, I was content -- if not perhaps even just a little bit... happy -- with my life. I liked, for the most part anyway, being back in the field far more than I'd thought I would, I enjoyed being part of a team and already considered Ethan, Benji and Jane to be close friends, and I had... whatever it was I had with Ethan. Compared to life post, and to some extent, given that I'd always felt as though I was just treading water, pre Croatia, things were just good. I felt a part of something and, for what may well have been the first time in my entire career, I also felt as though I belonged.

This feeling lasted for four months.

As is so often the case given the insane, mixed-up world we've chosen to work in, the changes were meant to be short term. If everything had gone to plan it was only meant to be for a month. Six weeks at most. Just a momentary change to help IMF get fully back on track after the combined debacle of both Ghost Protocol having been enacted over Cobalt's bombing of the Kremlin and the wrong person having scored -- above not only his pay grade but also his general intelligence and ability to 'get shit done' -- the role of Acting Secretary. Personally, as the servers still contained all the intel and the agents knew what they were doing anyway, I don't know how he found it so hard to get all the missions back up and running again and, while I'm at it, I still, to this day, don't know how he was able to fuck everything up so badly. 

But, fuck things up he did and because of this I was pulled from field work and dumped back in the role of Chief Analyst to patch over the mess he'd made and bring everyone back up to speed. Four to six weeks. That was all it was meant to take and, never having been one to shy away from either hard work or putting myself in a position that I didn't really want to be in, I was okay with it. IMF needed straightening out, and I was confident that, so long as I was left to my own devices and people actually did what I told them, I could get the job done. Besides, an old mission of Jane's suddenly having become active again meant that she too had been pulled from our team, so it wasn't as though things had been going to be the same anyway. She was out in the field as part of Bannister's team on the trail of a particularly nasty arms dealer with suspected ties to ISIS, I was stuck back in the office, and Ethan and Benji were still going above and beyond on the ground. It was just... one of those things. Being professionals, we go where we're both told and needed the most and that, really, is all there is to it. On a personal level, being ripped from the team I'd already started to take for granted annoyed me, but I knew that it wasn't permanent and that, again, it was just the way things had to be.

Only...

Four to six weeks turned into six long and arduous months, and IMF turned into the CIA.

And Ethan disappeared.

Convinced that he was doing the right thing and determined to see it through to the end, he went dark in his relentless pursuit of the shadowy Syndicate and dropped close to completely off our radar while, toeing the party line because we felt as though it left us in the best position to assist if he ever called on us, Benji and I found ourselves both working for, and under the constant scrutiny of the CIA. Jane, meanwhile, appalled by Hunley's hatchet job on the IMF and how the committee had fallen hook, line and sinker for it, couldn't face-up to the idea of 'playing nice' for an organisation she despised and, just like Luther, had tendered her immediate resignation in preference to working for the CIA. 

It...

It was just too much.

Jane was gone, Ethan was off doing God alone knows what, Benji was shell-shocked and possibly even just a bit in denial over what had happened, and, while all the time dealing with my own concerns over Ethan, I just had to keep everything together because I couldn't afford to either disintegrate or show Hunley my true colours. Luther, I know, views me as something of a self-serving, ass-kisser who puts his own needs above anything -- loyalty, friendship -- else. To him, I just kept putting a suit on every morning and headed off to work as though nothing had changed. He thought, because I'm so fucking adept at keeping my emotions hidden behind a blandly polite mask, that I was okay with it all, that I... didn't care what Ethan was going through so long as I kept receiving a pay cheque.

I wasn't.

Of course I wasn't.

But what other option did I have open to me? 

Quit? Betray my friends?

Like Ethan, even if it was only within the arguably safe and secure confines of Langley, I just did what I felt I had to in order to achieve the best outcome. I didn't like it, and it was actually far harder on me than Luther will ever know, but I did it and I did it to the best of my ability. I sucked up, and I played the game, and, in my own small way, I like to think that by doing so I was able to keep Ethan both alive and on track.

And now, at long last, it's finally over.

Lane's in custody and what's left of The Syndicate is without their leader and controlling force. Atlee's out of a job and Six, who have no-one to blame but their own hierarchy, are probably about to embark on the same period of flustered incompetence that IMF endured in the aftermath of having enacted Ghost Protocol. Hunley, along with most likely being in the foulest mood imaginable, now has all the proof he needs to both back the fuck off and kiss all the ass he has to in order to get the IMF reinstated, and...

... It's over.

We...

That is...

... Ethan won.

He willingly paid the high price of burdening himself with the task of proving The Syndicate's existence and, most importantly of all, lived to tell the tale.

And...

He's here.

Looking exhausted and, like me, still wearing the clothes from last night, he's walking through the door, and...

... I'm wound so tight that I don't even know how to react.

This really being the first time we've been alone since that last night in D.C. before he and Benji set off for what turned out to be their final IMF mission together, for a moment or two all I want to do is give into pure instinct and hug him. We're alone, there's no 'life or death' situation hanging over our heads, and...

Needing answers more than I need the comfort of a long overdue embrace, I have to remain focussed and be strong.

"Damn it, Ethan!" I exclaim as he shuts the door behind him and, with only the slightest widening of his eyes in response to my outburst, slowly makes his way over to the sofa. "You died!"

"Only momentarily," he replies with a flat, forced smile that doesn't get anywhere close to looking natural as he slumps heavily down on to the sofa and stretches his legs out under the coffee-table. "Just a cat-nap, if you like."

"No. I don't like!" I snap as, already feeling as though I've made the -- all-too human -- mistake of immediately heading down the route of defensiveness without stopping to think about my actions first, I fold my arms across my chest and glower at him. "Damn it, Ethan," I repeat, "it's not the sort of thing that can be just brushed off or made light of." 

"Benji?" Ethan queries, slowly looking me up and down as, combining the sight of my buttoned up waistcoat and rolled down sleeves, along with my sour expression and defensive stance, he no doubt comes to the swift conclusion that, yes, I really am as uptight as I look.

"Of course, Benji!" Unfolding my arms, I gesture at Ethan angrily and shake my head. I don't want to be behaving like this, and wish I'd used my brain to waste a few seconds on thinking about what I was going to say instead of just honing straight in on what, to me, is the very crux of the matter. At the end of the day, given that he's still here and staring at me with a blank, tired expression on his face, it doesn't even have to matter that, as Ethan put it himself, he 'momentarily' died in the torus. It wasn't permanent, Faust was able to successfully bring him back, and... No harm, no foul.

It's just...

I didn't even know until Benji, needing to talk even though he had to know no-one was in the mood to be listening to his babble, blurted it out a couple of hours ago.

'And... Oh my God! He was dead! There I was, feeling all chuffed with myself for having done my thing, not even in a mask, mind you, and Ethan... Oh God! He was dead. I... I nearly died myself! If Ilsa hadn't had the forethought to have the defibrillator on standby, it... It just doesn't bear thinking about! I mean, without Ethan...'

I hadn't known, and...

... I didn't want to know.

I didn't want to know because, despite knowing that it was history and, ultimately, he was okay, it just hit far too close to home and played directly in to the fear I'd been living with every day since he'd ended his final phone call to me with the fateful words - 'you won't hear from me again.'

It's not, contrary to what some might think, that I'm a pessimist or ever doubted Ethan's tenacity, brilliance or ability as I always knew, even in my darkest, most anxious moments that if anyone could single handedly bring down The Syndicate that he could. It was just everything else, really. Like the fact he'd mentioned his run in with the Bone Doctor, a sadistic psychopath we'd believed to be dead. If The Syndicate had been able to both recruit, and keep a sick creature like the Bone Doctor off our radar, then who else did they have to call on? And what was their end game? Seeing as he was on his own, what sort of chance did Ethan even really have? As good as I knew him to be, and as strong as my faith in him was, could he actually do it? Would I ever see him again?

If he was injured, captured, or, worst case scenario, dead, would I have even known?

What makes his 'cat-nap' in Morocco even worse for me is the fact that I was... there. Not with him, but close. Far closer than I had been in six months, yet still not close enough to have been of any use. Even though I may not have known it at the time, I was only minutes away as he lay -- momentarily -- dead.

So close, yet at the same time still so far.

And even now, just knowing it hurts like an open wound that I can't stop picking at.

"So much, then, for making him promise not to tell you," Ethan murmurs, giving me a wry look as he shrugs out of his leather jacket and drapes it over the arm of the sofa.

"I wish he hadn't," I mutter as, feeling perfectly incapable of standing still, I shift behind the armchair and close my hands around the back of it. "Seriously, I... I didn't want to know."

"I'm still here," he replies softly. Leaning forward, he rests his palms on the knees of his slightly spread legs and tries unsuccessfully to catch my gaze. "Although it certainly wasn't for the lack of trying, I'm still here, and... it's over. I've received my lecture and my begrudging pardon for having gone so far off the reservation, and, I don't know about you, but I'm kind of hoping to just be able to pick things up where we left off."

“You...” I shake my head again and, despite the fact Ethan has just expressed pretty much exactly what it is I've been needing to hear, clench my hands even more tightly around the back of the chair. “You were gone for six months,” I state in a dull, plain tone, “and while I know my own experiences during this time aren't a patch on all the shit you've been through, my life hasn't exactly been a walk in the park either, you know...”

“Will, I...”

“Don't,” I interrupt, turning a deaf ear to the sound of my name being used for the first time in six months by someone other than Benji. “Just... Don't. I know that I'm not being fair, that... I'm perhaps about to give every indication of being the most selfish, irrational, and... stupid... man you've ever had the misfortune to meet, but I... I have to get this off my chest. I get that the timing is wrong, and I get that I'm behaving like petulant fool, but, Goddamn it, Ethan, do you have any idea what it's been like while you've been out and about single handedly taking on The Syndicate, huh? Do you have any... fucking... idea what it's been like having to dutifully jump through all of Hunley's damn hoops while at the same time having to keep my shit together well enough not to ever miss any of your incredibly few and far between messages?”

“Will, I...”

“Like I just said, don't!” I declare, shooting him an ominous look as I pull my hands away from the armchair and, solely because I don't know what else to do with them, shove them in my pockets. “I know I shouldn't be doing this, okay... I know that you're tired, that, hey, you don't even deserve it, but if I don't have my say, if... I keep it all bottled up like I have been, I... I honestly think I'm going to explode. You... I know I'm repeating myself here, but you've got no idea what it's been like these past six months...” Trailing off, I give a slow shake my head and, not liking how intently Ethan is gazing at me, move a little further away so that I'm leaning against the wall by the window. “I suppose Benji's already told you all about the polygraphs he had to take,” I continue, tilting my head back and glancing up at the ceiling. “How, every week, at a certain time and as regular as clockwork, he got strapped to the machine and had to go through the motions of proving his loyalty to the fucking CIA, and how it annoyed him, and how... onerous... it was. What I doubt, though, is whether he told you that I had to take them, too. Only, unlike Benji's regular as clockwork sessions, mine were random, and... and constant! Ethan, I...” 

Knowing that I'm already in danger of getting too worked up, I shake my head again in an attempt to calm down and sigh. “I hate being the centre of attention,” I state softly, “and, yes, as I'm sure you already know, I'm a creature of habit that doesn't cope too well with always feeling on edge. Weekly tests I could have handled just fine. Hunley though, either because he knew you still had to be contact with me somehow, or because he's just a sadistic asshole who derived far too much pleasure out of watching me squirm, he had me take the tests whenever he damn well felt like it. It didn't matter if I was going for a run, or giving a briefing, or... washing my fucking dishes, as... there he'd be. Curling his finger and making me go with him then and there. He always watched, too. It wouldn't even matter if it was the fourth test that week, as there he'd be. Silent, and smug, and waiting for me to trip up. I...” Lowering my head, I look over at Ethan and, finding him still staring at me as though transfixed, scowl. “I hated it. I never doubted my ability to keep your messages secret and nor was I afraid of his patience only stretching so far before he decided to try a more hands on approach as it would have taken more than torture for me to give you up, but I absolutely hated it. The look in his eyes as he paced around the table, the feeling of... embarrassment... when I was pulled from meetings, the fear that it was never going to end, that... that perhaps you were already...”

Stopping myself from saying it, I push away from the wall and, not quite trusting my legs to keep holding me upright, walk back over to the armchair and sink down into it. “Hunley was relentless, and if you're thinking I resented his attention in me, then, yeah, you'd be right. Perhaps he was only doing his job, but it felt personal. Personal, and... invasive. Along with the never ending polygraphs I was also under twenty-four-seven surveillance. Everything was bugged and, if that wasn't enough, I always had a tail. It... It was like living under a microscope. I couldn't talk to Jane on the phone or email her because I knew they'd be monitoring any and all forms of communication, and I... I hated it. I hadn't done anything wrong, I wasn't a traitor, and...”

“Will...” Ethan, his expression one of obvious sorrow, leans back against the sofa and tries once again to – cut me off mid rant – get my attention. “I...”

“I was in such a foul mood one night, thanks to being dragged from yet another meeting to take yet another polygraph,” I mutter, talking over the top of him as though he'd never even opened his mouth, “that I deliberately took my tail on a lengthy, aimless drive through the back streets of D.C. before, just to really give the bastard something to put in his report, going into the dodgiest looking sex club that I could find. There, if you must know, I got what would have to have been the worst blow job in my life before going home and, continuing my night of firsts, drinking scotch until I passed out over the kitchen table, and... That pretty much sums up my life right there. I mean, I'd never felt more alone or... lost. Hunley had me on a short leash, I couldn't talk to anyone because someone was always listening, and...” Pausing, I take a deep breath and force myself to meet Ethan's concerned gaze. 

“Then there was you,” I add plainly. “Even if... we're nothing more than just colleagues, I was worried about you. You were on your own, weeks would pass without one of your cryptic emails filtering through, and I... I felt helpless. Sure, I could endeavour to let you know when the CIA were getting close to your location, but... that was it. I couldn't do anything else, and it just ate at me. I was on edge all of the time and even now, now that it's finally over and you're back, I'm still on edge because I don't know where I stand...” Sighing, I rub the tips of my fingers against my temple and look down at my knees. “With you,” I whisper. “I don't know where I stand with you. Maybe... Maybe I've been living in some sort of delusional state all this time and don't actually mean a thing to you. Maybe I'm... useful... to have around and that's it. Maybe, I don't know, perhaps the way I'm carrying on over something that doesn't mean anything to you just proves that... that there's something not right with me...”

“Will...”

Startled by the volume of Ethan's voice, I jerk my head up and, to my considerable shock – if not dismay – discover that he's not only got up from the sofa without me having noticed, but is also crouching down in front of me. “If you'd let me get a word in,” he murmurs, gently placing his hand down on my knee and giving it a squeeze, “what I've been trying to say to you, hell, what I've been... wanting to say to you ever since Morocco, is that... I've missed you. I've missed you more than you'll ever be able to imagine and not a single day went by without me longing to have you by my side. Will...” Sliding his hand warmly along my thigh, he takes my hand in his and smiles hopefully. “Did you hear me? I've missed you. Although we mightn't have got to spend much time together before... all of this, I still know that I've both missed you and want to be back with you. Will... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for having dragged you in to this and for having made the last six months so horrible for you, and...”

“I don't need an apology,” I interrupt, closing my free hand around Ethan's and pressing down on it as, hardly believing my luck at how things appear to be going, an incredible weight is lifted surprisingly effortlessly off my shoulders, “as there's nothing to apologise for. When all is said and done, you did what you felt as though you had to, and so did I. What I do need though, what all this... little performance... is all about, is you. Ethan... If it's what you want, what you really want as opposed to just saying it because you know it'll shut me up, all I want is to try to pick up where we left off. That's all. I... I want you...”

“While I know it mightn't have felt like it,” Ethan replies as, too tired to maintain his usual grace, he visibly trembles from the exertion of balancing on the balls of his feet, “you never stopped having me.”

“In that case...” Smiling, I tighten my hands around Ethan's and, both slowly and carefully so as to ensure keeping him with me, get to my feet. There's more that could be said. In fact, there's no doubt more that probably... should... be said. It can, however, wait. I've – cleared the air – had my say and, well, right now knowing that Ethan still wants to be with me is enough to start putting everything else aside in favour of getting some much needed rest. “Come on, you,” I murmur, tilting my head in the direction of the bathroom. “How about a shower before just calling it quits and going to bed, huh?”

“With you?” he whispers almost cautiously. “Will, I... If there's more you want to say or... hit me with, then... please don't think you have to...”

“I've had my say,” I state with a smile as, entwining my fingers around Ethan's, I begin to lead him in the direction of the bathroom, “and, more importantly, I've got my answer, so... Yes. As I have no intention of letting you out of my sight, of course with me.”

“In that case, a shower followed by bed sounds like heaven,” Ethan replies, squeezing his fingers around mine. “Oh, and you know something? The Prime Minister's right. You... do... have warm hands.”

“I'm not going to live that one down, am I,” I retort with a laugh as I flick the overhead light on and guide Ethan into the bathroom before pushing the door shut with my foot and rolling my eyes.

“Not for a while, no. And if I remember to tell Benji, the answer's probably never.”

“Yeah, well... If you must know, I'd rather be known for my warm hands than being... uh... a walking, talking manifestation of destiny or whatever that garbage was that came out of Hunley's mouth.”

“Garbage?” Ethan affects a wounded expression for, oh, all of two seconds before, it getting too much for him, the corners of his lips twitch into a grin. “You mean you didn't like it? Personally, I was rather taken with it.”

“What it was,” I reply with both a snort and another roll of my eyes, “to use the local vernacular, was... bollocks. Seriously. Keeping in mind here that I've been stuck with Hunley for six months and have heard him say some pretty stupid things, that... That just took the cake. What's more, I didn't think he was ever going to finish, either. On and on and on he went.” Pausing, I give Ethan a cunning look and shrug. “In fact, the longer the drivel went on, the more I started to wonder whether he had some sort of... crush... on you or something.”

“You...” Shaking his head, Ethan pulls a face and starts to laugh. “You just had to go there, didn't you?”

Nodding, I fail dismally in my attempt to choke back laughter and squeeze my hand around Ethan's. “I did. For six months I'd had to put up with Hunley's obsession to bring you in, and... and there he was going on like that! I mean, what was I supposed to think, huh? It... It wasn't contempt or even jealousy that had been driving him, it was...”

“Don't! Like you were telling me earlier, just... don't!” Ethan exclaims with a groan. “Seriously, Will. I don't want to hear it.”

“What? That Hunley's guiding force was one of...”

“I'm warning you. Just... Don't go there.”

“Aaaw... Anyone ever tell you that you're no fun,” I mutter through yet more laughter as, grinning back at me, Ethan too gives in to the moment and begins to laugh in earnest. The sheer innocence, humour and, in a sense, reassuring comfort of the moment feels absolutely incredible and I try not to think about how I can't even remember when it last was that I laughed like this and actually meant it. Regardless of everything we've been through, we're together again and already we're slipping back into our old routine of talking crap, laughing, and... not wanting to be apart. Ethan's hand is still clutched tightly around mine, and, as the laughter gives way to genuinely happy smiles, I can see in his eyes the same sense of – 'we can still do this?' – amazement that I just know has to be mirrored in mine.

“Not wanting to give you nightmares,” I murmur, using my free hand to begin undoing the buttons on my waistcoat, “I'll stop teasing you about Hunley's true intentions towards you and will just settle for getting you into the shower instead. So... Come on. Off with the clothes and into the water.”

“I...” His expression changing to an unfamiliar one of confusion – or, alternatively, consternation – Ethan clearly hesitates over releasing my hand and, as the faintest of blushes stains his pale cheeks, glances down in the general vicinity of our feet.

My breath catching in my throat at the raw, no-words-needed-to-explain, emotion of Ethan's reaction, I step closer and lightly press my lips to his lowered forehead. “I'm not going anywhere,” I whisper. “We're going to shower, and then we're going to bed. Together.”

“I... Sorry,” Ethan mumbles as he keeps both his hand around mine and his gaze averted. “I don't know what... Uh... I'm being silly...”

“You're just over tired,” I correct, lifting my hand and gently stroking the back of it along Ethan's cheek and jawline. “And... I get it. Trust me, I do, but we can't stand here all day and you know it. So...”

“Get with the program?” he offers, leaning into my touch as he gives me an embarrassed looking smile.

“I was going to say... get into the shower, myself,” I reply, catching his gaze and holding it until, with a small nod, he releases my hand and immediately sets about taking his clothes off. Knowing that nothing more needs to be said about what just happened, I follow Ethan's lead and busy myself with stripping off before walking naked over to the shower and turning the water on. Once the temperature is to my liking, I step under the warm flow of water and, turning around, hold my hand out in an open invitation to join me. “Come here, you...”

Nodding again, Ethan stifles a yawn and, after stepping out of his jeans and briefs and kicking them away, walks over and steps into the shower. “I shouldn't be this tired,” he murmurs, pulling the glass door shut and, after I've taken a step back to make more room for him, resting his hands lightly on my hips. “I... I feel...”

“Overwhelmed that you did it, that it's finally over,” I finish, touching my finger to his lips. “Now... Shhh... The quicker we shower, the quicker you can get some sleep.” Grabbing the soap, I apply it to Ethan's chest and, when it becomes obvious that he's not going to reply or, for that matter, shift his hands away from my hips, gently begin to wash him with it. Not liking the amount of new scars littering his body, I make a very deliberate point of not paying them much attention and, as now really isn't the time for it, nor do I linger over my self-imposed task. Once I'm satisfied that he's clean enough for the time being, I quickly wash myself before draping my arms over Ethan's shoulders and pulling him closer.

Putting up no resistance to this, he slumps against me with a sigh of contentment and, as his fingers stroke both sides of my hips, drops his head down on to my shoulder. Closing my eyes, I rest my head against Ethan's and murmur, “It's not just me, is it, Ethan?”

“Not just... Sorry. You're going to have to be a little clearer,” he replies. “Will? I don't...”

“I'm not the only one who thinks we've got something between us,” I clarify softly, “something that... has to be worth fighting for...”

“It's not just you,” Ethan confirms as, lifting his head, he pulls a little bit back and smiles at me. “In fact, the reason I refused Ilsa's offer, the one to... break free and join her, had nothing to do with loyalty to IMF and everything to do with... you. Will... You're the one I want to be with, the one who... makes it all feel worth while...”

“Then...” Not wanting to make a big deal out of Ethan's confession in case he regrets having been so honest with me, I plant a quick kiss on his cheek before removing my arms from around his shoulders and turning off the water. “It's a good job that we're together again, isn't it,” I declare as, grabbing his hand, I open the glass door and carefully guide him out of the shower. “Now...”

“Bed?”

“You took the word right out of my mouth.” Smiling, I snatch up a towel and, just as I did in the shower, turn my attention to ensuring that Ethan is dry first before swiftly drying myself and leading him out of the bathroom. “Come on, a quick streak to the bedroom followed, at long last, by bed.”

“Streaking? I leave you for six months and you've taken up...”

Spinning around, I silence Ethan by pressing my lips against his for, all this considered, a far too brief kiss as, reaching the bedroom, I nudge the door open with my hip and pull him inside. “My exhibitionist tendencies being few and far between,” I retort, “I'll have you know I only did it because I was confident we still had the suite to ourselves. So, no. I most definitely have not taken up streaking.”

“I'd say... pity,” Ethan responds through a yawn as he shuts the door and glances around the room, “but to be honest I can't stand the thought of anyone else seeing you naked, so...”

“I'll keep my streaking for your eyes only,” I finish as, proving that it really is contagious, I yawn broadly and, all the time tugging Ethan along with me, walk across the room to where our bags are lying on the floor by the window. “But... As I'm still no more of a fan of sleeping naked than I was the last time we slept together,” I continue, releasing his hand as I crouch down and pull my bag towards me, “make the most of the sight as I'm about to get something to put on.”

“Spoilsport,” he mutter as, kneeling down, he joins me on the floor and reaches for his bag. “Don't worry though, given that Six are so stingy that they've put us in a suite with only one bathroom, my moment of... uh... streaking is over too.”

“Now who's a spoilsport, huh?” Grabbing a pair of pyjama pants and a T-shirt out of my bag, I stand up and pull them on as, looking increasingly dead on his feet, Ethan slowly does the same. Once he's dressed, I gesture him over towards the bed before pulling the drapes closed and helping him fold down the bedding. “I know it'd be lucky to be five in the afternoon,” I comment, watching as Ethan climbs under the covers before holding them up for me to join him, “and that as we'll probably be awake before dawn we're risking doing even more damage to our body clocks, but...”

“There's not a single place on earth I'd rather be,” he states through another yawn as, letting the bedding fall over me, I make myself comfortable next to him. “Besides...” Shifting closer, he arranges himself around me and slides his hand under my T-shirt so that it's resting on the bare skin of my waist. “I'm sure we'll be able to find ways to entertain ourselves in here before having to fully rejoin the land of the living.”

“Oddly enough, that's what I was hoping you'd say,” I reply, resting my head down on the pillow and closing my eyes. “Now... Shhh... The sooner we get the whole sleeping thing out of the way, the sooner we can set about... entertaining... ourselves...”

“I like the way you think,” Ethan murmurs. “In fact, I like... all... of you and, because I feel as though this is something I have to do, I just want to say... Thank you. Thank you for... coming, and for staying, and, most importantly of all, thank you for... always being where I need you...”

~ end ~


End file.
